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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22838878">Eight Crows Calling</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/scattered_autumn/pseuds/scattered_autumn'>scattered_autumn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Eventual Happy Ending, How Do I Tag, I'm Bad At Summaries, Light Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Ratings might change, Slow Burn, and actually have it make sense, basically me indulging my royal hendery agenda, but make it a fic, higher powers give me the strength to write this, hopefully with sustainable plot, i take artistic liberties, it's all in the hands of fate, kind of, lots of crows - Freeform, luhendery for the win</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:01:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,463</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22838878</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/scattered_autumn/pseuds/scattered_autumn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>New London extends far into the distance, until his eyes are straining to see past the gloom. It's as if the world ends on the horizon, or perhaps there is no end. Only the fog and the shadows of airships passing by, slowly drifting away until they're swallowed up by the unknown.<br/>This is the only place he knows to call home.<br/>To stay is a death sentence. To go is to drop from the hangman's noose.<br/>Here, he is no longer safe.<br/>Here, where dreams begin and nightmares crawl alongside them.</p><p>"Sweet child, do not cry,<br/>when the crows peck at your feet.<br/>To touch the earth is for man-<br/>to fly is for worlds to meet"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, Lee Taeyong/Nakamoto Yuta, Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Eight Crows Calling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I did random draw out of my ideas document and this is the one that was chosen. Honestly, this is due to one of those sudden inspiration boosts that leave me needing to write something. Because of that same reason, I will most likely have sporadic updates (and long droughts), so early apologies. With that out of the way, enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The heat of the sun is merciless and wrathful, and so is the man in front of him. With a grunt, Lucas is thrown to the ground by a well-executed parry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pants harshly, his lungs burning with the desire to take in all of the air that had just been knocked out of him. Standing before him is Yuta, proud and smug in his slightly condescending matter, though Lucas has known him long enough to tell that it’s just the way his face appears. (Of course, if he were to say that to the man himself, he might be suffering from more than just a bruised shoulder).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many times is that now? Five?” Now that is definitely smugness Lucas is sensing, seeping into his smile so that he appeared more cat-like than ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite his prideful words, both of them are panting from exertion, Yuta appearing to have fared no better in stamina than himself. They take this moment to rest, Yuta sinking the dull tip of the practice swords into the ground to lightly prop himself onto while Lucas sprawls on the ground, eyes threatening to close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They are hidden away in a corner of the training yard, currently filled with sparring aeronauts of the Royal Airforce as the swordmaster made his rounds among them. It’s stupid and he wishes they didn’t have to do sword training, because really, who would choose a sword over a pistol in a fight? By the time he got to swing the pretty metal around, he would have been keeled over from a bullet to the head. But decorum and pride means that every evening he finds himself in the dusty courtyard, surrounded by the sounds of other aeronauts as they hit each other as harshly as possible, fooling around, because they’re loud and immature despite their stations, and the end of the day is approaching and everyone just wishes to rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps there was some spite talking there, he begrudgingly admits. He had never been very good with a sword, the weapon feeling awkward in his grip. It was long and hard to balance, in some ways like himself, and he’s never been one for elegant battle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For Yuta though, it’s the opposite. The man moved with a hidden sort of power, always on the balls of his feet and ready to advance, countering as soon as his opponent struck, as if he had predicted past the next step, as if he already knew how the entire duel would proceed. It made him a formidable partner and his skill was suitable for someone of his position, but mostly it served to annoy Lucas, who really wants to stop eating dirt every time they spar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t feel like only five to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It really doesn’t. His bottom has practically gone numb with how many times he’s hit the ground, his arms are aching from holding up a sword for so long, and the sun is taunting him, hanging disgustingly high up in the sky. They’re not allowed to go in until it’s about to set.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if noticing his mood, Yuta’s face relaxes into a friendly grin. He offers his hand to Lucas, who takes it and heaves himself up with a small “thank you”. As he brushes himself off, Yuta places his chin in his hand and sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, I’m going to miss this place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucas freezes for a moment, and recalls the news that had been delivered to their dormitory just a few days ago. Assignments were beginning to be arranged, and Yuta had been assigned to a post on the outer skylines of New London. Meanwhile, he would remain close by the Academy in a neighboring city, having finally been promoted to captain of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Queen’s Glory</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a position he’d sought after for years. And however glad he was that they were both finally </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing</span>
  </em>
  <span> something again, he dreaded the date as well. This would be the first time they were stationed so far apart since their first level tests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It will still be here when you get back,” he says in what he hopes is a reassuring voice. “And when you do, we’ll go out for a drink at that tavern with Devil’s Brew.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuta offers him a faint smile, but there are still lines of worry creasing his brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Besides, you always said you wanted to travel the world. This can be seen as your first step, yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I have to admit, when I said that Kechtin wasn’t the first place I had in mind,” Yuta responded wryly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucas barks out an abrupt laugh, because quite honestly, they had chosen the most unsuitable location to station the aeronaut of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Spring Singer.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Kechtin was one of the northernmost districts in the empire, and the winters were said to be unbearable lest one was a natural fire or dead. One of the most undesirable parts to live in, much less patrol the skies in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But don’t forget, </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span> also turned down every other location that was offered to them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To be honest, Lucas has no idea why Yuta had been so obstinate during assignments. It seemed that for every location they poured over, the man had found something or the other to nitpick at, shaking his head no until finally, an exasperated Lucas threw the remaining location names into the air and grabbed one at random before flicking it at Yuta’s head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the last one,” he threatened (though he knew that if his friend really asked, he would find himself staying there for at least a few hours more, because he was weak like that).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuta had his head bowed, and remained silent for a few moments. His eyes, which scanned the paper quickly, suddenly filled with some sort of unknown emotion, and his hands gripping the paper slip tightened, knuckles white.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucas felt mildly panicked and wanted to apologize, scared that he had done something wrong. However, as he was about to open his mouth, Yuta looked up, clearing away that sudden moment as if it had never happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose this one will do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, as he examines his friend carefully from where he lies, it seems as if he truly had imagined that. Yuta jokes around lightheartedly with no care in the world, but Lucas recalls the twist in the lines of his face, as if he was grieving or angered, or maybe both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of respect, though, knowing the other felt uncomfortable when people tried to pry into his personal life, he stayed silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stay put, provided some measure of comfort by a tree extending its branches and shadows in their corner to shield them from the rays of light beating down upon them. It’s a moment of comfort, trusting in each other’s presence. He wishes for this to last a bit longer, before the day ends and they part ways tomorrow. His suitcase, which lies under his dormitory bed, has been packed and ready since the start of the week, but the realization that this was it, they were finally leaving, had not truly hit him until now. He will miss his friend, who burns with an infectious sort of passion that Lucas wishes he could have as well, but their near future lies in separate paths. For now, it is a time to examine these academy grounds that have taken in their younger selves, gorged itself upon tears and sweat and blood, and spit them out again, experienced and ready to play their part in the empire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucas spots the swordmaster making his rounds and approaching their corner, so he jerks his head in that direction. Ever synchronized, Yuta gives an indiscernible nod and they raise the swords once again, getting into position.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready for your sixth fall?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He wakes up to silence. It’s a disconcerting feeling, that there’s something missing. He lies on the hard mattress surrounded by bleach white blankets and </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, recollects himself at this moment. He’s going to miss this too. This dormitory has seen their tears after a harsh day of insults, has witnessed arguments and apologies and forgival. Friendships broken, friendships made. They’ve shown each other the rawest form of themselves, and shared a dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite all their talk of big dreams in a world more immense than they could ever comprehend, the full immensity was still overwhelming. This was their little pocket of the universe. He can’t imagine leaving. He can’t believe he’s been assigned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a bit ironic, he decides, how humans live. He hated the dormitories, hated restrictions and regulations. He wanted to fly, wanted to become captain, yearned for it with an obsessive passion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now he’s so close. But he doesn’t know what to do anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There will no longer be morning checks for whether he folded his sheets to perfection. He won’t be forced to follow curfew, won’t be chased around the field with burning legs as the trainer demands he go faster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t have to open his eyes. Yuta must have gone already, because his flight was farther and he had to make it in time. Despite that knowledge, his eyes sting, but he doesn’t allow it to go any further than that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was silly. It wasn’t as if it was the end of the world. He could practically hear his father’s voice reprimanding him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What are you crying for? You know men don’t cry. How will you ever fight in battle if you let yourself go like this?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t cry, not for this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few more deep breaths are all he allows himself, before he gets up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It hits him suddenly while he’s walking to the docks, putting a stumble in his step, that he’ll be all alone in a proper airship for the first time. At least, until he manages to scramble together a proper crew. But the reminder is enough to make him feel queasy, and if he hadn’t skipped breakfast in the morning he had a feeling the contents of his stomach would have made it out again. He was being sent on patrol, and though it was during peacetime, meaning he’d likely spend days doing nothing, it still filled him with apprehension. This was unknown territory that he was entering, and all of a sudden it's like he’s a cadet again, first stepping foot into the Royal Academy of Aeronautical Science. There are little mechanical birds in his stomach, the ones that peak their head out when the hour changes, but their gears have malfunctioned and now they’re bursting out randomly, making strange shrieking noises. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that hint of nervousness accompanying him, he walks briskly through the cobblestone roads. The dock was close enough for the Academy to excuse not providing him with a carriage. What was it the sergeant had said? Walking would build character. He couldn’t let this position get to his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite that, a small entourage is following behind him, which confused him at first. He was only a captain, not even in the Queen’s sector. There was nothing to justify him needing an entourage. Yet, as they approached the docking area, he began to have a nagging suspicion about why they felt he needed escorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last area before the docks are the slums, pushed to the outer ring, ignored even by their leaders. It is the bottom of the empire, upon which New London was built. He sees the cracked buildings and frayed clothes strung up on taut rope that crisscross between the buildings and over the narrow road, flapping along to the faintest breeze. They cast ominous shadows on the ground, like hundreds of crows lining the skies. He has to make an extra long stride to avoid a suspicious puddle on the ground, coloured yellow and red, emanating a horrendous stench. Behind him, he sees one member of the entourage make a disgusted expression, face contorted into a judging sneer. As he paces along the straight path, adorned in a light blue suit, he feels the eyes of the people on him. They peer from the windows of townhouses, from the factories, faces caked in dust and dirt, fascinated by this group so out of place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole area had a stench to it, from a lack of sewer systems that leads to the contents ending up on the streets. It’s unwashed bodies and sicknesses impossible to control once they start.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t help but think, though, that it’s the stench of something rotting. A big mass of people, elders with twisted backs and children with twig limbs, all mashed together, rotting away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sight makes him nauseous and angered. He thinks of young boys in moth-bitten hats, of worn mothers with ragged smiles, of clicking metal gears and of </span>
  <em>
    <span>pain, inescapable pain, that’s everywhere and all-consuming and haunting cries - </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The people do not approach them. Their eyes gleam in sunken sockets as they watch, like faces of the dead (and they know it, it’s a death sentence to be born in the slums). One group looks ahead, the other follows their backs until they disappear from view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucas feels a cold shiver run down his neck. It’s like they’re waiting for something, he doesn’t know what, he’s not sure he wants to find out. There are pieces of stone sticking out everywhere, potholes unfixed for years, and he busies himself avoiding those areas. The clotheslines above are shaking, the clothes themselves wriggling to life. The eerie silence is broken only by the tapping of his shoes against the ground. The fog seems to have grown heavier, like a resigned gloom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they near the end of the street, the people begin to move. The entourage draw themselves in around him, try to block his view of the slums behind him. But he can hear them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sing a mournful tune, in a broken language so familiar to the ear, but so different after so many years. They sing of birds and shadows, of monsters that can lurk in the daytime. The tune is nothing like the choirs of the Academy, and everything like it. There is no one pitch, not from here, lungs weak from smoke and throats worn from coughing. But it is one voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It starts off softly, with one joined by another, until it’s rising into a crescendo of desperation and hunger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They are reaching an end as the docks begin to appear into view. The song is bouncing off the walls, echoing in this small shadowed space and it feels like he’s in a cave that’s growing smaller.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s the rustling of a thousand crows as they laugh their ugly laugh, swaying on precarious lines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is a cacophony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is a melody warning of danger.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, like with most fics, I have a bunch of little moments that I've planned out and want to incorporate in here, some stretching what will probably be dozens of chapters into the future. While I hope this will become my first long fic, there is also the chance that I might lose passion for this, which I hope can be understood. <br/>Anyways, obviously a lot of the main characters haven't been introduced yet. Rest assured though, they should all appear in due time!<br/>Finally, to whomever is reading this: Thank you for giving this a chance (despite the obscure summary and unhelpful tags). May luhendery/markhyuck/yujae bless your day!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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